


See You in the Afterlife

by SeductiveEuphoria



Category: The Musketeers (2014), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crossover, F/M, Gen, The Brunchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeductiveEuphoria/pseuds/SeductiveEuphoria
Summary: A crossover fic that I started writing because Natalie Dormer/Tom Burke have off-the-charts chemistry (in The Brunchers) and I wish she could've starred in The Musketeers. Also, Annabelle Wallis who played Jane Seymour (on The Tudors) also played Ninon (on The Muskeeteers). So let's connect the dots.





	1. Chapter 1

The night before, Anne had gradually come to terms with the inevitability of her execution. She had tried to picture her last moments on God's earth. She had imagined that memories from her past would flash before her eyes as she surrendered to death's iron grip.

Instead, it was thoughts of the future that ran through her mind. A future where her daughter's fate was just as much at the mercy of Henry's whims, as Anne's own life had been.

Perhaps, it was her fault. Had she not given into her fears, she would have fought harder to keep the crown on her head, and her head on her shoulders. Alas, another queen was to take her place, as she had taken Catherine's. Such cruel irony, but Anne supposed she should have seen it coming anyway. Pity, she would not live to see if this new queen would make Henry happy. For her own sake, she had to.

The executioner swung the blade deftly, expertly, birds scattered in the air frightened by the whooshing sound, the crowd gasped.

The last feeling Anne remembered before she lost consciousness, was repentance, along with a deep longing to live. To breathe. To see. To fight and protect what mattered to her most.

But you cannot always get all you want.

When she next drew a breath, she smelled a sickly sweet perfume in the air. She squinted, too afraid to look up at first, then opened her eyes wide. Her heart was fluttering in her chest as she saw a handsome man staring down at her with a concerned expression. He was a soldier in a fanciful leather uniform, funny hat and an assortment of weapons hanging from his belt. It was the oddest thing, to intuit that she was fated to meet him.

"Are you alright, madame?" He held out his leather-gloved hand out to her. Noticing her questioning look, he tipped his hat and bowed his head lightly as he introduced himself. "Athos, of the King's Musketeers, at your service."

It took her a few moments to recognize the language and respond.

"Tell me, monsieur Athos, where am I? Is this hell, or, dare I hope – Heaven?"

The man smiled, visibly amused by the question. She took the hand he'd offered and he helped her stand up.

"Either one, or both, depending on who you ask. You are in Paris, madame."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The musketeers debate whether the woman Athos found could truly be an English queen from the past.

Porthos seemed amused, above all. More so than his companions.

"What?! The queen of England! Did she expect you to curtsy or somethin'?"

Aramis, who was typically calm and composed in similar situations, seemed mostly outraged by the proposition of time travel.

"You cannot possibly believe her story, Athos. It would be blasphemy to do so. What she has told you does not sound like a miracle, although that is probably how she will present it. The Lord works in mysterious ways, but what she is suggesting… That's madness."

"I haven't said that I believe it," Athos drawled.

D'Artagnan was still not quite sure what to make of the story.

"What then?"

"Like Aramis said, it sounds mad. I have seen soldiers lose their sanity after battle. There can be any number of reasons for a woman to be in shock and get the same way. But there's one complication."

"And what is that?"

Athos turned his weary gaze on Aramis.

"She has the manners and the formal expression of aristocracy."

"So? Aren't there mad aristocrats? I certainly know a few," Porthos chuckled.

"It's more than that. She uses archaic language – words and phrases that are no longer common. She's given me an account of the English ambassador, several noblemen and ladies in waiting in the Court over a hundred years ago. I attempted to check the information in the archives, with relative success, and it is fairly accurate."

"So what if she's learned a bit of history?"

Athos propped his elbow on the table and stretched his legs.

"Precisely. How would she learn all this, and why would she ask to speak to the King?"

"His Majesty king Louis?"

"No. But the point is, I need to find out if she is mad, or if she's a threat."

Porthos dismissed his concern with a wave.

"Don't be paranoid, Athos, how can she be a threat? She's a-"

"Woman? In my experience, women can be even greater threats than men. Especially those who spy and manipulate."

"Not everyone is like Milady," D'Artagnan objected.

"No," Athos conceded quietly. "But she may still be dangerous."

"A beauty like her? Guaranteed," Aramis gave his expert opinion. "Thread carefully, my friend," he added with a pat on his shoulder and a tip of his hat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such is human nature; it is sometimes easier to be strong for someone other than yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 1x7 of The Musketeers.

Athos spent the majority of the following days in her company. She had asked for books and only interrupted her reading when he spoke to her. When confronted with the statement that over a century had passed since her last recollection, she had been disbelieving at first, but then insisted that he tell her about the fate of the English monarchs and court.

“Elizabeth, tell me about my Elizabeth,” she pleaded with genuine concern, and despite his better judgment, he complied.

Incredulity, pride, fits of laughter and sadness. Her face was so expressive that Athos could see a whole spectrum of emotions at each chapter of his description of events. If she was a hired spy and an actress, she was impressive.

Alas, the more he investigated, the more he realized that the alternative explanation – madness - was a little more likely. Anne seemed convinced without a shadow of a doubt that she was the infamous queen of England from olden times. When questioned further, she took it as an insult upon her intelligence.

“Do you remember anything else from your life before you came here?”

Athos was trying to be as tactful as possible, but the way he phrased the inquiry aggravated her again. She shot him a fierce look of reproach.

“I have told you all I know,” she punctuated each word with exasperation and thinly veiled anger. “I cannot make up an entire life I have not lived, even if it is what you want to hear.”

He nodded and dropped the argument.

Meeting the current English ambassador did not help solve the mystery of her identity as Athos had hoped. He tried to make inquiries about the English aristocracy in Paris, but all he received were evasive answers and suspicion. Finally, he asked outright whether a noblewoman was known to be missing, but the ambassador had no knowledge of any lady of importance going missing.

“You have to eat, Anne.” The name tasted sour on his tongue, like fine wine turned to vinegar. It was the first time he used it instead of addressing her with the polite ‘madame’.

She noticed the change, but pushed the plate with bread, cheese and grapes, which he had offered, back to him.

“Why?”

”Would you rather I let you starve to death?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. Athos wondered if she had even heard him.

“What is a life without purpose? I prayed to God for guidance, but received none.”

“You said you wanted to meet the king,” he prompted and held his breath for her answer.

“No, I said the king could vouch for me if you let me write to him. But I guess he can’t do that now if he’s been dead for a century as you say.” She snorted when the hilarity of the statement occurred to her.

So she should be no threat to His Majesty Louis, Athos thought melancholically.

Early the next morning, a few hours before dawn, his uneasy sleep on the ground was interrupted by the guest he’d let stay in the bed.

“Athos, Athos, wake up,” Anne urged him as she joggled his shoulder.

The musketeer grabbed the dagger from underneath his pillow on instinct. He abruptly pulled her closer by the arm and had the blade at her throat before he was fully conscious and able to assess the situation.

“It’s just me,” she protested against being manhandled.

But it took a moment for his vision to clear and focus on her eyes. Dilated pupils encircled by powder blue rings stared back from a small distance. Anne’s face was pale even in the faint light of the candle she had left on the table. With his hand still on her arm, he felt her tremble.

“What’s the matter?” he croaked and withdrew the dagger from her throat.

Her fingertips traced the skin where the blade had just been and she relaxed only by a fraction. He noticed sweat drops on her forehead and a few strands of hair sticking to her face.

“I had the dream. Again.” Her voice was fraught with panic.

Athos pushed himself up to sit and she huddled up against him, seeking comfort. _What comfort could he give her, this ghost of a man whose love had been spent on another?_

But when he awkwardly put his hand around her shoulders, it reminded him that he could still be a rock for her, even when he felt like he was crumbling to dust inside. Such is human nature; it is sometimes easier to be strong for someone other than yourself.

“What dream?” His voice was soft and his tone – patient.

“The one where I’m in a cage and Henry locks me in while his mistress taunts me with the key.” The image was still vivid in her mind’s eye - the bulging vein near his temple, the merciless and distant look on Henry’s face, the hand caressing his new lover. Somewhere in the dark corners of her consciousness, Anne relished the sense of retribution. After all, Anne’s execution had brought a Pyrrhic victory to him and that woman, who would later die granting him his greatest desire, a son. A son that would be outlived, both literally and metaphorically, by the daughter - Elizabeth.

”Then they push me down the river,” Anne hissed, recollecting the scene that had woken her.

“It was just a nightmare,” Athos soothed.

Anne turned to him and twisted his shirt in her fists. She’d had dreams like this before, only to see them turn to reality.

“No, it wasn’t, I can feel it.”

“The past always haunts us. Try to banish those ghosts, if you can. If not, make your peace with them.”

It was sound advice. Except he’d never known it to actually work.

Her hands released the rough fabric.

“What do I have but the past? All my dreams, my life’s ambitions, my loved ones, everything’s gone.”

“There is a freedom in that, is there not? Sometimes in misery, stripped bare of all we long for, we find what we are meant to be. Our true calling.”

 _The Comte de la Fére is dead. Long live the musketeer Athos._ He remembered the toast that he’d made that cursed and blessed day, but not the number of wine glasses that he had raised and drunk to it, nor the following dawn. By God’s grace, two of his new brothers-at-arms, Aramis and Porthos, had taken pity on him and had helped carry him to the garrison in the early hours of the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

The idea had been forming in his head for a while and eventually Athos was forced to suggest it. She was growing restless, that much was evident. No matter how many reasons he could list to justify keeping close watch of her, he had no real right to make her stay. He had run all alternatives in his head and judged none of them to be suitable. Thus, mostly by a process of elimination, he had arrived at the solution.

Anne was a highly intelligent and rebellious woman, he had concluded from his conversations with her. Naturally, she reminded him of a certain someone.

“I have an acquaintance that you can stay with, perhaps you can be of help,” he offered at breakfast.

“What help could I be to anyone?”

“You can read, I assume you can also write. Perhaps you can assist with teaching.”

“Teach? Me?” Her scepticism was tainted with suspicion, but there was a sparkle in her eyes for the first time in days.

“Yes. Like I said, I know someone who does. She is staying at a small manor in the countryside and she teaches peasant girls to read and write. I’m sure she’ll welcome an assistant.”

Anne tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

“A noblewoman?”

“She used to be a comtesse, yes. Alas, her title and her fortune were stripped from her not long ago, but it seems to make her happy to still teach. She is an extraordinary woman.”

“Oh.” Anne gave him a lopsided smile and a knowing look that made his ears turn a little red. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to meet her.”

“So it’s settled.” Athos put his cloak on and draped the left end of the cloth over his right shoulder. ”I’ll get us some supplies for the trip whilst I’m out,” he informed her before leaving.

***

“Athos?” The other musketeer called out his friend’s name again and knocked, then pushed the door open.

Anne lifted her gaze from the book she was reading.

“Good morrow, monsieur.”

“Madame,” Aramis greeted and tipped his hat. “Is Athos out?”

“Yes, he promised to bring me some more books and get provisions for a trip. You can wait here, if you like, he won’t be long.”

“I see.”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, fidgeting with his hat while he waited.

She pressed her thumb and index finger to her mouth, tugging on her lower lip as she studied him.

“I seem to make you uncomfortable.”

Aramis had personally made inquiries at the palace about her sudden appearance. None of the musketeers standing guard could remember seeing her enter, neither could the servants. What was even stranger was the account that the gardener had given. He had been trimming the hedges, with a clear view of the fountains. He had seen Athos making his rounds, he had turned around for a mere moment and then back, suddenly noticing the figure on the ground.

There could be a simple explanation, of course. The secret corridors within the palace and the hidden tunnels underneath it could have allowed her to slip past everyone, _if_ she was one of the privileged few who knew about them. Athos had failed to discover her identity, but, unlike the gallant marksman, he had abandoned both the suspicion that she could be a spy and the quest to unravel the mystery of her appearance.

_But what if she had indeed materialised out of thin air like the gardener had suggested…_

Aramis was not a religious zealot or a superstitious man, but he was uneasy.

“Perhaps,” he admitted as he ran his fingers through his thick hair.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“I’m a soldier and death is my business, but you call its efficiency into question,” he explained playfully, hoping to mask his distrust of her with humour. “If I am uncomfortable, it is because you may be a bigger expert than me in this field, and that hurts my professional pride a little,” Aramis said as he tapped his chest lightly for a theatrical effect.

Anne burst into laughter – hearty and booming at first, then interrupted by a high-pitched break.

For days, she had done nothing but read and reflect on her life, her faith, her purpose. It was almost refreshing to have the marksman make light of the situation she had found herself in.

“I like your spirit, monsieur.”

“Aramis,” he supplied.

“My dear monsieur Aramis, would you join me for a game of cards while we wait for Athos to come back? I haven’t played in over a century, I guess, but I doubt the decapitation has affected my skill as a player.”

For a decapitated queen, she certainly had a very infectious giggle, the 'romantic hero' concluded as he dealt the deck of cards. Gentleman that he was, he intended to let her win, but later found himself resorting to Porthos’ tricks in order to prevail at least once.

Athos returned to find his guests in the middle of a lively discussion about religion and foreign politics. His brother-at-arms then promptly bid Anne farewell and explained that there was an urgent mission to be carried out on Captain Treville’s orders.

As soon as the two musketeers set foot outside and closed the door behind them, Aramis put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and scolded him.

“Athos, what is she doing here? Normally, I would be happy for you, but of all the women in Paris, did you have to get involved with the one claiming to be the executed Queen Anne of England?”

“You hardly have a right to judge me, Aramis. At least in my case, it is not treason.”

“How nice that you amuse yourself at my expense,” the romantic marksman retorted as he put his hat back on. “So has your guest asked for an audience with the king?”

“No, but in any case we have to prevent her from ever getting His Majesty’s attention. Given her convictions, it would be a disaster to bring her to the court of a Catholic king and his Spanish queen,” the swordsman pointed out.

Aramis nodded his head.

“Not to mention that the cardinal would be very pleased to watch her burn at the stake.”

“All the more reason to keep her away from the palace,” Athos drawled.

“Yes, she told me about your plan and the mysterious comtesse you are taking her to meet. Are you sure you want to involve Ninon in all this?”

By ‘all this’ Aramis meant the woman who was either resurrected (which was least likely in his opinion), or a spy, or a lunatic, or a witch, and potentially a rival for Athos’ affections. In his rich experience, he had never met a lady who could appreciate the irony or welcome such an intruder with open arms, therefore he doubted Ninon would be so magnanimous.

Athos stopped abruptly and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“That’s not a very high bar, is it? I may suggest that we train her as a musketeer and it will still be a better idea.”


End file.
